


and the nights (bigger than imagining)

by exyfexyfoxes



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slow Burn, Street Racing, non-hockey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2018-12-24 01:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12002364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exyfexyfoxes/pseuds/exyfexyfoxes
Summary: Dex snorted. “Let me guess, he races tofeel. Jesus.”Or the Tokyo Drift Au nobody asked for





	1. Chapter 1

It made Nursey’s nose burn, that metallic taste of ozone and bent metal.

He didn’t belong here. His borrowed shorts stood out cartoonishly - bright salmon pink against navy sky and grit-dark roads.

He’d seen Tokyo Drift. Real life was only half as colorful. People took pride in their vehicles, more focus on the engine than anything else; lively paint jobs done garishly by unprofessional hands. There were no elaborate costumes. He was surrounded by guys in baggy clothes, dark gray in the yellow of a dying street lamp, scuffing around in off-white, dirty Adidas sneakers and torn hoodies ripped clean in half at the waist.

It was a college turn out, a young crowd - older than Nursey but only by millimeters.

A few people late in their forties stood off to the side, watching the finish line hard. The drivers had taken off some time ago and some were headed back now, just at the edge of sight. Nursey guessed they were bookies, gamblers - maybe, he thought, eyeing the 18-year-olds hollering with their friends - maybe some were concerned parents.

Overall, as far as rebellion went, maybe this wasn’t the type of rush he’d been looking for. The racing here seemed kind of PG.

He scuffed his shoe against the ground and thought about leaving.

Something in the air cracked. It was less a sound than an emotion, that squeal of rubber and tension against asphalt. Nursey watched one car whip into sight and then plow straight into a streetlight.

The streetlight seemed just as adverse to the car as the car was to it, giving way slightly and then bouncing back as the car did a donut. It spun in uncontrolled circles with more speed and ferocity than it’d raced with and Nursey watched several people leap out of its path as it spun towards the edge of the bridge.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw other racers braking, red lighting up the dusty back roads leading towards the finish line - a long bridge that made this strip an attractive place to race, because it was out of commission. Heavy chains were coiled at the edge of both ends, recently cut for tonight's activity, Nursey guessed. It was all back roads out here, the city nothing more than will o’ the wisps in the distance.

The car wasn’t headed towards those back roads. It missed the finish line by about a half mile, and Nursey and the crowd watched with growing horror as the car plowed through the rusted metal fences like they were paper.

It vanished off the edge, soundless except for the crunch of metal and shouts of onlookers and nearby camera phones going off. The footage would be uploaded within the hour and Nursey could already see the tagline - “Boston Drag Racer Donuts Off Bridge LIVE.”

Never mind they were two hours outside of Boston. Never mind it wasn’t live anymore. Never mind this wasn’t drag racing. Drag racing was legal.

No one would call the cops. That guy was gone.

Nursey’s heart raced. His mouth was numb with adrenaline and he hadn’t even been behind the wheel.

Shitty took in his shell-shocked face and laughed.

“Yeah, bro,” he told Nursey. He squinted up at the sky. “One of the dumbest things you can do. Especially on a night like this.”

“Let me borrow your car,” said Nursey immediately. He needed to feel his foot on a pedal, to taste death and gasoline and grit between his own teeth.

Shitty was already shaking his head. “Man, I’d hoped you’d be coming here to watch. I don’t -”

“Wasn't watching at Andover,” said Nursey.

Well, if he was being honest with himself - and he usually tried to be - the Andover crowd was comprised of ten kids tops - 14, 15, 16 years old driving their moms’ Honda Civics, asking for complete engine remodels for birthday gifts, second cars, flashier paint jobs. Andover had been more flash than anything else and the look on Shitty’s face said he knew as much. But when they were racing up and down back roads, Nursey road the lead. It meant something different to him than it did the others.

This was college. He needed more. Shitty knew it. When he was picking colleges, Shitty had been the first one he called.

Shitty sent the crowd gathered at the bridge edge a significant look. “You got a death wish?”

“No,” Nursey said.

“Good.”

“Does that kind of thing happen a lot?” 

Shitty tweaked the edge of his mustache so it was at a curly point, before smoothing it back down again. “Not if you’re sober and actually know how to drive a goddamn car. Did you bring a vehicle?”

Nursey smiled and shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

“You totaled it,” Shitty said, flatly.

“My mom wouldn’t let me bring it to college,” Nursey admitted and… okay, that wasn’t a great response. It showed his age.

Shitty considered him, then shrugged in a _well so much for you, good luck in the future, bye_ kind of way.

Nursey grabbed his arm. “You’ve seen me drive, man, you know I’m good for it.”

Shitty's considered _that_ , and then shrugged much in the same way as before but quieter.

“C’mon, let me borrow one of yours.” If Nursey had to beg, he wasn’t above that.

There was a pregnant pause. Light glinted off Shitty’s aviators as he fished through a pocket, then pulled out a set of keys. He watched Nursey’s palm close around the keys tightly, and then he grinned, an overexcited, devious thing that hadn’t changed in four years.

“Find it,” said Shitty, “and you can drive it. Belongs to a friend of mine.”

Nursey's smile dropped.

It wasn’t that he thought the car would be hard to find, or worried about its owner, but there were miles of parked cars on grass. It’d take him over an hour to comb through the lot.

“Well,” said Shitty, “Get to it.”

* * *

 

It was, of course, at the very edge, gathering dust near an orange traffic cone. Nursey was panting from the amount of running back and forth, but the car itself was worth it.

Now, if you wanted to race, you wanted a real car, a good one, then you got a project car for under 10k - a Mazda from the 90’s was a good find, so was a Ford if you didn’t have the cash. If you did, then a little Porsche was gold - machines dressed up for the Oscars. You could see its muscles, admired the athletic shape of them, admired the curve of its hood.

Under the hood was more important - the gears and oil that slicked the engine, made it sing. Shitty had left him a pretty car - a little silver Porsche Cayman. He ducked inside to fit the key in place and felt it come alive around him. He launched himself out of the front seat to check the engine.

It had to have 330 horsepower - or less because that’s about the amount of power Shitty would loan him. He knew this car. Zero to sixty in 4.7 seconds, he’d swear on it.

He grimaced. He had a Mercedes-Benz sitting in the parking garage at home with 536 HP that didn’t take three and a half seconds to get from 0 to 60.

He swung back around to the front seat. Top speed 165 mph.

 _Bet I could push that_ , he thought. _Bet I could get it to 200._

Nursey got back in front, buckled his seatbelt, and left the gear shift where it was before revving the engine. It roared, long and loud and dragonish. How else would Shitty know he’d found it?

Then he did it again, so everyone else knew too.

 

* * *

 

It was hard to have a race in the same place more than twice before the cops were drawn in, so when people found a good spot, they made the most of the night and then never went back. The ruckus was a little crazy, too hyper too early at 1AM.

Nursey sped towards the starting line where the others were lingering around their cars, engine on, but parked, doors swinging wide. He’d arrived with minutes to spare.

He scanned the crowd for Shitty and found him jogging Nursey’s way, grinning at him. Nursey rolled down his window.

“Sick ride, Shits -” he began before a redhead that Nursey hadn’t even noticed next to Shitty, stuck his hand in the open window, going for the keys.

Nursey grabbed him by the wrist and tried to push him back out. “Dude, what do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell, asshole, that’s _my_ car,” said the redhead.

“Not tonight, it isn’t,” Nursey answered. He squinted, trying to get a better look at the guy in the glow of the surrounding headlights. He had a mouth like a lemon and ears three times the usual size.

“You’ve got a cast on,” Nursey said, taking in the stranger’s limp.

The guy’s face was getting redder and redder. “You don’t need a wide range of motion to press down on a gas pedal.”

“Wait, you want to _race_ this?”

_“It’s my car!”_

“Whoa,” said Nursey. “Chill.”

Shitty stepped between them before the redhead could throttle him, keys forgotten. “Dex, meet Derek Nurse; he’s coming out from Andover to represent. Nursey, this beautiful, angry motherfucker is Will Poindexter, and he’s not racing anything until the cast is off.”

The guy, Dex, scowled fiercely at Shitty.

“Yo, can you calm down? I’m not going to crash,” Nursey said, glancing back at the starting line. Drivers were getting back in their cars, onlookers clearing out of the way.

“The fact that you have to say that is actually _less_ reassuring.”

Nursey rolled up the window.

Dex’s eyes narrowed, and before Nursey knew it, he was marching around the car with one hand on the passenger door. Hastily, Nursey pressed down on the automatic lock, but a second too late; Dex had the door open and fell inside, carefully pulling his injured leg in with him.

Nursey shrugged, unaffected, but irritation twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“Get out, or you’re going to have to deal with me the whole ride,” said Dex.

In response, Nursey pressed down on the gas pedal and Dex lurched forward with a curse. His open door swung back until Dex grabbed the handle to pull it shut.

“I’ve dealt with worse,” said Nursey.

Shitty jogged behind the car, looking worried.

The cars around them were revving - just a little at first, then loud enough to drown out the crowd. The cheering dulled.

Nursey glanced at Dex as his car rolled into place, and then he shifted to park.

“Here’s where you get out,” said Dex. Despite his words, he was pulling on his seatbelt.

“Or you do.” Nursey’s hand curved around the gear shift loosely.  He felt the rumble of the engine beneath his palm, saw his hand tremble with it. Or maybe he was just trembling.

Dex saw it too. He opened his mouth but before he could start, Nursey pointed to the guy at the start line holding the flag. “With that leg, you’re better off doing that guy’s job.”

“Fuck off.”

“It’s pretty easy, just drop the flag when the whistle goes off.”

“You are legitimately obnoxious.”

Nursey looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “For real though, Poindexer, think about it. I get to race, and you get half the prize money when I win.”

Dex scowled but didn’t have time to answer before the flag dropped.

The squeal of tires on asphalt filled the air, and Nursey pelted out of there a hairs’ breadth behind someone else’s bumper. A glance at his rear view mirror showed Shitty waving in the distance, his figure getting smaller with every second.

The first bend came up quick. Out of the corner of his eye, Nursey saw Dex reach for the handle above his window.

Nursey ripped the handbrake for the turn but didn’t let off the gas. To lose speed this early on was to lose the race - everyone knew that but not everyone was ready for the immediate jerk that followed, that millisecond of tires coasting without traction on the road, uncontrollable. Nursey kept the wheel still and watched in his rear view mirror to see who was inexperienced, who would try to turn the wheel to get back control and crash in the process.

To his surprise, the cars glided in unison behind him - and there were only a few; to his displeasure, he’d started off closer to the back of the pack than the front.

If this was a twenty-minute race, he wouldn’t have been as worried. But this track wouldn’t last eight minutes and there were an unwise ten cars for it.

For a full minute, there was peace, an easy drive where Nursey slid past two cars who had either not enough horsepower or not enough skill behind the wheel. Horns blared as he cut a third person off savagely, and he expected Dex to grip the handle tighter, but to his surprise, Dex only crossed his arms with a pinched look on his face.

A few cars ahead of him turned a sharp corner, a distinct L between a boulder and two towering metal fences.

There was a beat, then Nursey saw the car’s brake lights flash ahead of him. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal, ignoring Dex’s hiss. This car only went to 165 - braking wasn’t an option, not if he wanted to win.

He cursed, watching the red disappear around the corner, and then a very telling sound of grinding metal.

He didn’t have to look at Dex to know the other was leaning forward in his seat. “What do you think?”

“I think if you brake now, you’ll lose,” replied Dex.

Same wavelength. Nursey made the turn.

Then took back everything he’d thought about braking.

There was a timer above the dashboard that all racing cars had to keep track of specific time, counting down to the milliseconds and Nursey watched as that clock turned syrupy molasses slow.

There was a four car pile-up ahead, one car so twisted up it hurt Nursey to look at. It was right up at the turn, not a half mile away. Impossible to see from the other side. Nursey guessed there’d been an obstacle the first driver hadn’t seen right at the crux of the L.

They must’ve crashed, skidding part of the way, and then each subsequent car pushed them out a little further. Nursey was going too fast; he could turn the wheel but he’d still catch the edge of the wreckage and probably crush Dex in the process.

He could brake but at this angle, it’d send him spinning into a fence, and besides, the cars behind him couldn’t know what was ahead; they’d rear end him so hard, his neck could snap from the impact.

His brain knew this, but his reflexes went for the handbrake anyway.

Dex’s arm shot out, holding Nursey’s wrist in a bruising grip.

 _Wait_ , Nursey saw Dex’s mouth shape the word without hearing it, and watched Dex’s eyes dart to the steering wheel. _Wait_

Dex waved one arm in an aborted motion - _left, left, turn it left,_ and Nursey didn’t have to ask him to clarify before it clicked in his head too.

His eyes darted to the wreckage and he waited for a breath, not even that, not even long enough to blink, but a wait nonetheless, before Dex let go of his wrist and Nursey pulled the handbrake, hard, and tilted the wheel microscopically left.

They spun.

Compared to the five seconds it took them to make the turn, see the crash, to assess and execute, the time it took them to spin around the wreckage lasted hours.

Smoke burned in Nursey’s nose but he hardly smelled it, His tongue felt like ice in his mouth. The car circled, nose facing the pile-up, allowing Dex and Nursey to take in the full disaster.

Nursey wanted to close his eyes. The melange of metal and broken parts was bad; he didn’t want to imagine the people inside those cars.

They kept spinning, too quick for Nursey to count the times.

“Nurse!” Dex shouted.

Another car, probably braked and caught the edge of the wreck, like Nursey would’ve, was flipped over directly ahead of them.

Nursey used a foot brake this time to twist around it, escaping a thousand percent more due to miracle than skill.

There were two more ahead of him just like it. The night time made it hard to see them. Nursey heard himself shout, and he heard Dex shout, but the way they pulled the car from one place to another, he couldn’t tell you whose idea was whose.

Abruptly, it was over. Abruptly, it was nothing but clear road, and the mile markers that lit up the way like driveway fairy lights.

Relief seeped from his skin like sweat, and he grinned at Dex.

Dex’s sour expression hadn’t cleared.

“They wouldn’t make it this easy,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I’d put money on it. They’ve got police spikes or something somewhere ahead.”

Nursey squinted and turned on his brights. “Then I’ll be fine. Hard to miss police spikes.”

“They’ll have painted them dark, or matte.”

“I’ll see them. I have good eyes.”

“You won’t see them until you’re right up in front of them, right before it’s too late.”

“I’ll see them before that,” said Nursey, just to be contradictory.

Dex glared at him. The soft blue of the dashboard light clashed horribly with Dex’s hair, making it seem much redder than it should’ve been in the dark. Mile markers went by them in flashes, and Nursey watched Dex’s expression grow colder in strobelight-like slow motion.

“You’re not winning this one, Nurse,” said Dex.

“Wanna bet?” said Nursey.

Dexy’s eyes slid to him and he was quiet for a beat before, “Bet what?”

“Two grand.”

“No.” Zero hesitation.

“One grand.”

“No.”

“...Five hundred.”

“How about this - you win, I let you drive my car again.”

Nursey cracked a grin. “I was going to do that anyway.”

 

* * *

 

Shitty tried to kiss them both when they crossed the finish line. A few cars followed them, but a lot fewer than ten.

After an aborted group hug, Shitty pulled out his phone.

“Clear out,” he said, looking out to the other end of the bridge, as if trying to spot the cars that should've followed Nursey and Dex. He raised his voice to a shout. “Ambulance on its way! You got ten minutes, twenty at most.”

Nursey followed Shitty’s gaze. In a way, he was glad someone was calling the paramedics for whoever survived out there. Andover hadn’t been violent like this. But a small, guilty part of him hated that it was over - eight minutes of adrenaline didn’t feel like nearly enough.

Nursey examined one cylinder of the hood. The metal was bent, not dented but like it had been once and then pushed back into place. The paint job wasn’t great, it was chipping at the rims. This car wasn’t the car you brought in for show and tell, this car had seen things. 

The car was someone’s. He liked the scuff of it, the raw finish of the pain, in desperate need of wax. He liked the curve of tarnished metal, he liked the way it gleamed despite.

He wasn’t a fan of the bumper sticker. _Samwell Republican_ , huh?

Nearby, Dex was talking to Shitty. “How soon can you wire the prize money into my account?”

“Your account?” Shitty said, looking from him to Nursey. “Nursey was the driver.”

“It’s _my car_.” Dex sounded indignant, but too indignant, like he knew he didn't have much of an argument.

“We’ll go halvsies,” said Nursey.

Dex glared. “No.”

“Okay, chill,” said Nursey, irritation creeping into his voice. “That’s only fair.”

“Half and half, good,” Shitty interjected quickly. “We have to get out of here.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled again, “Ten minutes!”

Nursey shot him a look, thinking of the packed lot. All of these people were going to clear out in ten minutes?

Shitty winked at him. “We’ve got this down to an art, dude. Now, are you riding with me or Dex?”

Dex pulled open the driver door.

“Definitely not riding with me,” he said, a little savagely, and slammed the door shut.

“Same time next week, babe?” Nursey called after him, in the 4.7 seconds it took for Dex to go from zero to the fuck out of here.

Shitty coughed out a laugh in the cloud of dust he left. “You guys got a date?”

Nursey snorted. “Not even close. Poindexter’s letting me borrow his car next time.”

“Does he know that?” Shitty said, dubiously.

Nursey shrugged.

“Well, as far as friends with benefits go, you sure picked a prickly one.”

“I’m straight,” said Nursey, in case he had to clarify.

Shitty laughed at his quick response. “The benefit is the car.”

Nursey picked a leaf off of his sweater. “Yeah, honestly it's not much of a benefit. By the way, can I stay with you? I registered late and the dorms were full.”

“‘Course, brah,” said Shitty, and got in his car.

Nursey followed suit, but not before glancing back at the busted metal fence on the bridge. He thought about the guy who’d vanished off the edge of it. The only reason people took out their cell phones was to take a picture of the tail light spinning midair, and then go dark under the water and for the first time, he wondered what would’ve happened if he called the cops. Was the guy still alive when he went under? If it were Nursey, would someone have called the cops for him? Would anybody care enough to risk their own skin like that?

His parents would care, he decided. They adored the hell out of him. It wasn’t their fault he was out here.

But this - driving, feeling the rush under the tremble of the engine, hedonistically edging death - wasn't something they understood. New York was a plentiful and gluttonous city, but it didn’t have what Nursey needed.

  



	2. Chapter 2

Do you ever regret not doing the bad thing?

Those half-awake moments, forgetting that distinct line between what is done and what simply is not? Those times when you’ve got a choice, a choice, and a half second you’ll regret for the rest of your life?

Look, there’s the good thing to do and the bad thing to do. Sometimes it’s not that black and white. Sometimes it is. Look, there’s the thing you want to do and the thing you know you should do.

Look.

It’s a bad situation, whatever the outcome, because you have to make a decision.

Maybe you didn’t make the right one.

Dex peeled off the intersection with practiced ease, taking comfort in the cool confidence of his hands on the wheel. He hesitated, and then pulled his phone off the USB cord connecting to the radio.

He didn’t want to call Mary S, didn’t really know what to say to her - they’d been broken up for over a month but she still shot him a text every day, still asked about his work and his family, and the inside jokes remained intact.

That wasn’t the bad thing.

He couldn’t bear to think that he wasn’t her best friend anymore. But that wasn’t the bad thing either.

The bad thing was that moment six weeks ago when she pleaded with him to stop racing, and he lied and told her he would. Then, two days later, Dex let go of the clutch too early, and his foot was ripped apart. The doctors had spent six hours in surgery just to get the bones to realign.

Keeping in such close contact with an ex, for a month straight after she just broke your heart, that’s suicide for the brain. They’d been together for almost a year, and childhood friends before that. They could talk about just about anything, even their own break-up.

She’d said, “Let’s stay friends.”

He’d said, “Okay.”

And maybe he shouldn’t have.

Dex pulled out his phone, and select his most recent call with one hand on the wheel, an act that felt less like a safety hazard than driving with Derek Nursey had been.

The phone rang twice and then went to voicemail.

It was late. She was probably asleep. He considered dialing again, but decided against it, leaving a voicemail instead.

He turned on his brights, blue-tinged light flooding the road ahead. It was pitch black out, on his way to the city, streetlamps coming closer in marginal bursts.

The Haus was in a residential neighborhood, near the campus. He lived there with the rest of the boys, the ones who raced with reckless abandon and sometimes didn’t come back. That, honestly, was rare though. The people he hung with were good drivers, but he wasn’t so naive as to think only bad drivers got in accidents. Sometimes, all it took was that one bit of bad luck.

Dex cut the engine after parking on the side of the road. The Haus’s driveway was barely long enough for two cars, already full. He was the last one back. He pitied whoever was first, parked with three vehicles behind him, trapping him in.

When the Haus door opened with a quiet creak of old wood braced on old hinges. Dex didn’t turn the lights on in the dark hall, seeing that the kitchen was already leaking yellow from its doorway.

“Shitty,” said came a voice, familiar in a way that made a stone sink in Dex’s gut. Derek Nurse. “Bet you can’t get eight marshmallows in at once.”

Shitty’s reply was muffled in a way that could only be incriminating one of two ways. Dex hoped it was that he was on marshmallow number seven.

Dex just wanted to go upstairs to sleep. His eyes darted to the staircase, the bottom of which was drenched in light from the kitchen. He could try and sneak upstairs, and avoid any awkward conversation - such as: Why was Nursey at the Haus? Was he staying for a night or was he suddenly part of the gang? - but he risked someone catching him dashing up the stairs in their peripheral vision.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, ready to stalk forward.

“Hey… can I ask about Poindexter?” came Nursey’s voice.

Dex stumbled at the sound of his name, frozen.

“Uh, any question you have, you’ll have to ask him, the guy’s a locked box.”

“Okay,” came the response. “So, Holster, do you race too?”

Adam Holster’s voice came through. “Nah, I moderate with Ransom. We’re the ones shouting into a megaphone about where everyone’s at in the race, keep track of who’s in first.”

“Megaphones? Aren’t you worried about the police?”

There was a pause, and Dex could hear a chair scooting back, and then, the sink coming on.

“Some places we are. Way, _way_ out in the country, not really. No one’s around for miles. In the city, it doesn’t matter, there’s already so much going on, if we build any crowd at all, it’s usually people assuming we’re a rally.

“Just in case we have to be quiet, we made an app.” That was Ransom’s voice. Was everyone awake?

There was a muffled sound of a password being swiped into the iPhone and Dex suddenly felt like an idiot for just standing out here in the hall.

The guys didn’t look up when he walked in, save for Lardo and Jack, who were closest. Everyone else’s eyes were glued to Ransom’s phone, while Holster was bellowing about how the idea for the app came about (though Dex was the one who actually wound up designing it).

He spoke up to remind Holster of that fact, and Ransom grinned at him.

“Dex, when’d you get -”

“Dex, we prefer to think of it as a group effort-”

Dex glanced around the table. The usual suspects were awake: Holster, Ransom, Lardo, Shitty, Jack - though the last of which was a surprise. Jack was diligent about three things: his sleep schedule, clean eating, and morning practice with Bitty. Bitty himself must’ve been asleep.

Lardo pulled Ransom and Holster out of the way so she could get past the gang of boys in a small kitchen. She yawned on her way out, giving Dex a fistbump. Jack followed soon after her, and Ransom behind him. Holster, on the other hand, was apparently mid-explanation, giving Derek Nurse the low-down on how the races got started.

“And then Shitty made a Facebook group, and then a snapchat account, and then Instagram, and that’s when it really took off.”

“Oh, that’s sick,” said Derek Nurse.

“But we only have about 4k followers? We’re tryna boost our social media, so if you’ve got a Facebook, like and subscribe.”

“‘Course man, sure,” said Nurse.

Holster continued to talk, with Shitty chiming in, and Nurse continued to answer in monosyllables, all like, ‘uh-huh’, or ‘bro, that’s sick’, and after the third ‘chill, man’ the words were officially on Dex’s nerves.

‘Chill’ was one of Dex’s many pet peeves, along with coffee that costs more than $3 and people who called prosciutto prosciut. Like purr-joot. Who the fuck. On top of it, Derek Nurse was wearing what might’ve been the most heinous, multicolored monstrosity of a sweater that could only be hundreds of dollars for that quality of frat-boy packed into one piece of clothing. The sight of it actually made his eyes hurt.

“Alright, so it’s late,” said Dex. “I’m going to bed.”

“Night, Dex, later,” said Shitty, knuckles bumping Dex’s in a fist bump.

“Night.” That was Derek Nurse.

“Later, man.”

Dex retreated from the kitchen and made it all the way to his room before he realized his phone wasn’t in his pockets. He patted down his person, and then turned back the way he came to see if he’d left it in the kitchen.

Shitty was talking.

Dex paused at the door frame.

“This isn’t Andover,” Shitty was saying, reaching up to get a mug from the cabinet. “Andover was kittens and puppies. Someone died last night, like you get that, right?”

Dex ducked out of the doorframe, out of sight. This wasn’t a conversation meant for him; he should leave.

He didn’t leave.

Derek Nurse had kept to himself so far. If he’d been annoyed by anything once while they were talking earlier, Dex hadn’t seen it. Words slipped off his shoulders like water.

“No, yeah, I saw,” said Nursey, facing the sink. Dex could only see his back, the way he twisted one of the knobs a little harder when he saw it wasn’t leaking as much water as the other side. It was something Dex had been meaning to fix - right now the hot water turned on first, so even if you wanted cold water, it only came out in a trickle.

“You know this comes from a place of love, Nursey, but you’re not ready for this. It’s too much. You’re only - “ Shitty bit off the last of his words.

“Age’s just a number,” replied Nursey. “You were about to say I’m only 18, right? That I’m young for all this?”

Shitty shrugged and didn’t reply.

Dex scowled at the wall. The thing was though, Shitty was right. Derek Nurse was the type of guy who thought he knew how to drive a car, when really he didn’t know jack. He drove with all the patience of someone in rush hour traffic. He panicked easy and didn’t bother to think ahead.

It was an exhausting way to race. Or exhilarating, maybe, for some. If Dex was being nice about it. Which he wasn’t. There were no niceties in life or death.  

Derek Nurse should go back to the city.

Dex sighed and then rubbed his burning eyes, sandpaper-rough from lack of sleep. He liked having consistent sleep schedule, liked sleeping period. He wasn’t getting much sleep lately.

Even though Shitty was doing his best to get him out of the past two races, he’d kept showing up, knowing a chance to race would probably come up. And it had. Thanks to some random, reckless driver, Dex was able to make rent this month.

Something buzzed in his hand, and Dex looked down with no small amount of embarrassment to see that his phone was in his hand, had been the whole time. He left Nurse and Shitty in the kitchen and bounded up the stairs, two steps at a time. By the time he got to his room, the call had gone to voicemail.

Dex rubbed a hand through his short hair and fell onto his bed, staring at his phone.

It was Mary.

Mary always got so worried after a race, though she hadn’t discouraged him from it, only insisted he’d call her after every one. After they broke up, he stopped, but they were on good terms - he wondered if calling her casually was an okay way to go in terms of being friends again? He was glad they were over, for sure. But he missed her input in his life.

His phone rang. Mary. Mary, Mary, Mary.

He accepted the call, his heart feeling lighter already, just at the sight of her name on his caller ID.

“Will, what’s up? Why are you calling me at 2 in the morning?”

He hesitated. At his silence, she said, louder, “You’re not drunk, right?”

Dex felt himself smile. “No. Why would you call back drunk me? I mean, thank you, but -”

“Oh my god, shut up,” said Mary. “Can’t you be the traditional ex who calls me at two am, drunk as balls and begging to take me back?”

“No,” said Dex, eloquent as per usual.

“I dunno, what if you were in trouble or something? (“No, that’s not -  I’m not-”) So what’s up?”

“I just,” said Dex, “got back from a race.”

Mary was quiet for a minute. “Mr. Crappy was going to take you out of the races for a while.”

Mary wasn’t averse to saying Shitty’s name, she just thought the nickname was hilarious.

Dex said, “Well, I mean. He did try.”

“Doesn’t your foot like. Hurt?”

Dex snorted. “Pressing down on a gas pedal? With a cast on? Nah.”

“You mangled it pretty bad.”

“It’s ok now.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.”

They were quiet.

“Dex,” said Mary, her voice soft, and Dex knew, Pavlovian instinct, that she wanted to talk about feelings.

“So Mr. Crappy made me race with this guy today,” Dex threw in, quickly.

Mary gave a hum. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Didn’t love it.”

“I bet.”

“Yeah,” said Dex. He was about to say something witty but he yawned instead.

“Go to sleep, fool.”

“Too mad to sleep,” mumbled Dex.

“Why?”

“This guy,” said Dex. “Derek Nurse. Total amateur, could’ve killed us -” He launched into an explanation of events, how he’d driven up with Dex’s car and suddenly they were almost part of a pile-up and now they were partners in driving for the foreseeable future.

At the end of it, Mary said, “So is that what everyone calls him? Derek Nurse?”

“It’s his name.”

“Everyone calls him by both his first name and his last name?”

Dex rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it. I’ll stop talking-”

“--about Derek Nurse?” There was a tease in her tone.

“About Derek Nurse,” replied Dex, unsmiling. “Anyway. How about you?”

“Casual reminder that it’s still two in the morning,” said Mary. “and we’re both probably too tired to have this conversation.”

Dex sat up. Something about her phrasing bugged him. “Is something up?”

He heard Mary’s smile in her words. “Yeah, kind of?”

Dex’s mind went blank and then went about a million directions all at once. She wanted to get back together. Sort of. Not really. He does not want to get back together. Sort of. Not really.

“I met someone. And I like him a lot,” she said, and yeah, Dex isn't quite awake for this yet.

“Oh. That's good,” he said like an idiot. “Nice.”

She hesitated, wavering, and Dex himself wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Another moment and her voice was louder, like she leaned in closer to the phone.

“It’s not like, love or anything -” and she sucks in a breath, “Like, he makes me see potential in myself when I'm at my absolute worst, like on the floor defeated. He’s strong. I just feel like a better person when I’m with him.”

“I thought you felt that way with me,” said Dex. The words scorched up his throat. They left burn marks.

“I,” said Mary, and then left it there.

Dex rubbed his eyes. Today had been too long. He listened to her talk about her new beau for a few minutes, but mercifully, they said goodbye soon after that. Dex shucked off his shirt and pants with his brain in a fog, a sleep migraine building at the base of his skull.

The bad thing wasn’t lying to Mary about quitting the race.

The bad thing was every minute he wasn't on the road when he could've been. Every time he said no to a race, because it was dangerous, because it was a waste of time and energy for a million other reasons, every no felt like a knife in his lungs. 

Q: Do you ever regret not doing the bad thing?

A: Every second until he got behind the wheel again. 

Dex was certain now that nothing would keep him from getting in a car and driving up to the start line. Racing was more than just a thing he was good at or a way to make money. It was something he loved, aside from the adrenaline and the turn of the wheel under his hands, it was building his car from scratch, it was Shitty himself, and the community of people that had adopted Dex, taken him in and gave him a room at the Haus.

Gave him a home.

Dex squeezed his eyes shut. Would the right thing have been to go along with her? Or would it be cruel to pretend?

Distantly, his thoughts were of oil-slick pavements and squealing tires. He let sleep take him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who aint dead  
> Music: [Got The Love by Big Gigantic](https://open.spotify.com/album/2tSA0h8z7RwY7ua9NFeqUM)

First dates were in great to have in public - you see right away if you’re embarrassed or proud or indifferent to being around them, and you’ll know pretty quickly whether or not you want to be with that person.

But Nursey also knew that was a crock of bullshit - first impressions were almost never straight on, neatly right - people have more sides to them than what they could show a stranger.

Meeting up with this huge group of racers -- strangers -- felt a lot like a first date. These were the guys he was gonna be with for the next three years, watching each other’s backs, driving next to and against; all trying to make it to the finish line with a beating heart. Nursey looked at himself for almost an hour beforehand, inspecting his chin for stubble, dabbing on cologne that he instantly decided was too much and washed off after in the sink -- he wanted to make a cool impression, not that he was a 70-year-old renaissance man in a 20-year-old’s body, which was too true to be funny.  

He wasn’t a renaissance man by trade, but by spirit. An old soul, you know.

Initially, he didn’t want to go to college, wasn’t interested in the idea of a forced education dubbed as higher knowledge, wasn’t down for the debt he’d accumulate. Wasn’t begging to trade joggers for trousers. But the idea of living in a house full of people just as intense about racing as he was was too tantalizing so he majored in English because it felt like the closest thing to a fuck you at the corporate system and he liked poetry enough.

It worked out. He went to his classes during the day and raced at night - same principle idea as at Andover. At fourteen, he’d met Shitty, and by sixteen, he was leaving treadmarks in the school principal’s parking space, though he wouldn’t get his license for another two years.

When he moved into the Haus at eighteen, the rules written in sharpie next to the boiler in the basement stated clearly that there was to be no racing without a license. So he got one.

Nursey dabbed a bit more cologne under his ears, and then wiped it off with his wrist like his dad taught him. He ducked out of the bathroom door and then, hesitating only a little, made his way to his old room.

He’d taken the couch last night, after catching up with the team, a glowering William Poindexter peering just over their shoulders. Poindexter wasn’t familiar so he must’ve been a freshman or a transfer. He seemed to have taken over Nursey’s room.

Some of the team was downstairs, talking around breakfast noises, and Nursey picked out Poindexter’s voice among them.

His fingertips grazed the wood grain of his old door. Curved around the worn knob. Pushed it open, wistful and defiant and nervous all at once.

His room had changed from what he last remembered, had grown into something a little wilder. If something like God or time hoped to confuse him with this new wilderness, fuck them because Nursey would know this room by size and shape alone. He’d lived in this room one awesome semester, and then took the next one off. Spring and summer went by too slowly -- the newness of the room hadn’t lost its effect yet. Now that he was here for the fall semester, he’d expected to have his old room back.

Not the case.

Sour-faced, lumberjack fisherman, or whatever he was, was not part of the bargain. Especially not in his room.

He half jogged down the stairs, every intention of calmly taking Poindexter aside to explain how dibs work. He was sure the other guy would be chill about it. Nursey was here first, after all, so.

Poindexter was sitting facing the doorway, one arm draped over the neighboring chair, red flannel pushed up to his elbow, eyes amber two shades too light to be brown and his ears, well. Nursey knew celebrities with less presence than those ears.  

He saw Nursey first, but the tense line his mouth formed as it audibly clicked shut alerted the others to his presence quickly. Without greeting, Poindexter shot at him, “How long are you staying here for?”

“Dex!” came from Shitty, who was frying bacon wearing, bravely, neither shirt nor pants, but a hockey chest protector.

“What?” said Poindexter, without taking his eyes off Nursey.

Nursey shrugged. “A few more years, I guess.”

_“What?”_

For the first time, Nursey considered maybe Poindexter’s ears were swollen. They were pretty red.

“I go to school here,” said Nursey, at the same time Poindexter started with, “This isn’t a club or- _what?_ Since when?”

“Since, like, last year,” said Nursey.

Poindexter frowned. “I haven’t seen you.”

“I took last semester off.”

Nursey dropped himself into the chair next to Jack, who was wearing a heavy expression (though if he was the same Jack Nursey remembered from last year, he could be just as easily be thinking about this morning’s protein shake or the infamous poop he took in the Stanley Cup as a child). Jack glanced at him, and then at Bitty, who was pulling a breakfast quiche from the oven with the help of a kid with braces and a viciously teal sweatshirt.

Poindexter didn’t say anything, only looked at Shitty for confirmation.

Shitty worked a spatula between the bacon and the pan. “True facts.”

“Where is he staying?” asked Poindexter, as the bacon sizzled.

“My room,” said Nursey.

“Which is where?”

“You might’ve slept there until now.”  
“Have you met Chowder yet?” Shitty injected, gesturing to Teal Sweatshirt with the spatula.

“Hi!” said Teal Sweatshirt.

“Oh no,” said Poindexter. “You’re not staying in my room.”

“Nope,” said Nursey, pulling out a chair at the table and plopping down. “I am, however, staying in _my_ room. Nice to meet you, Chowder. I’m Derek.”

“Cool! Hey, if it’s any easier, Dex, you can stay with me until we sort this out? Derek shouldn’t have to be on the couch.”

“Actually, you can call me Nursey,” said Nursey. To Poindexter, he said, “You can too.”

Poindexter gave Nursey a dark look, mouth pursed even tighter, and didn’t return the sentiment. Instead, he turned to Shitty.

Shitty flipped the bacon again, and started to explain: the room Poindexter was staying in now was Nursey’s room last year - and was supposed to be Nursey’s room now. That’s just how the bylaws went - Dibs didn’t change from year to year, dibs were permanent accommodation. Poindexter hadn’t gotten dibs from the room’s previous owner, and Nursey hadn’t offered it, traditionally or verbally. Therefore, the room belonged, in all writing (behind the boiler down in the basement, if one needed to check), to Nursey.

The school bursar’s office was of a different opinion. Poindexter was offered the aforementioned room (by Shitty), paid the housing fee, pays the monthly rent, and has nowhere else to go should he be suddenly and irrevocably removed from the premises.

Which was unfair, of course, but also Nursey had a right.

“Well, technically you both have a right,” Shitty was saying.

Poindexter glared.

“Oh, boy,” drawled Nursey. “How are we ever going to decide who gets the room?”

 

* * *

 

No one wanted to waste the time waiting for night - though it probably would’ve been smarter. This was a little race, a nothing race, sunlight gleaming off the metal chains they cut off a chain linked, fence gate. Advertisements for a new neighborhood were plastered along the walls and a giant nearby sign indicated what the future estate was to hold - where little picket fences would case little white houses and thin, new oaks lining the street. Though for now, the area was little more than construction, half houses with their roofs and bare bone foundation.

Nursey wasn’t driving Poindexter’s car this time, but a car loaned to him by Holster, who wanted to put the whole drive on Youtube, with little teasers on their Instagram page. There was a little driving cam attached the rearview mirror.

The car was alright - a dependable, 1998 Toyota Corolla that’d seen better days. It wasn’t terrible and it wasn’t sexy, but it had personality, dented and scratched character. This was your little sister’s best friend’s car, your old history teacher’s cruiser, your uncle’s pre-midlife crisis that he’d sold you for fifteen hundred. Nursey could tell this was a car that’d gotten someone through a pinch - the engine roared to life so quiet and smooth, it was a comfort to anyone who drove it.

But the real question - was it a winner?

Holster and Ransom ripped down the real estate poster advertising bigger and better dreams - white picket fences that had yet to be built, tall saplings that’d yet to be planted, sidewalks thin as models, yet to be paved - to reveal a half-built neighborhood, houses made up of construction beams only, the bones of future homes standing tall and proud.

The 1998 Toyota Corolla roared as Nursey sped past them, leaving a dusty tire trail in his wake. The racers from the Haus followed behind in their own vehicles - Poindexter in a bright white Jag - God knows where he got the cash for that - teal highlights along the rim and LED halogen headlights and Nursey would put good money that he had the same early 2000’s LED interior lining his steering wheel and gear shift.

“Where’s your car, Poindexter?” Nursey shouted over the growl of his parked engine.

“Thought I’d show you what a real car looked like,” Poindexter called back.

“Who’s car is that?”

“Who do you think?”

“The guy with the matching sweatshirt,” Nursey replied. He winked at Chowder, who was sitting in the passenger seat. Chowder waved at him and beamed, teal braces on full display.

“When you roll like me, you gotta stay on brand,” said Chowder.

Nursey laughed.

Poindexter looked for a second like he wanted to laugh too, and then changed his mind and glared at Nursey before making a show of rolling up the tinted windows.

Nursey grinned.

Bitty cut them off, seated like a king in an old armchair in the bed of Jack’s truck. Nursey and Poindexter lined up side by side, perpendicular to the truck, Bitty indicating Dex “back up a hair and straighten out”, and Nursey “stop rolling forward and getting ahead of yourself for goodness sake”. Then, Bitty sat back in his chair and held a stuffed animal high above his head.

Holster and Ransom pulled themselves over the side of the truck, using the back wheels as step ups.

“This is Señor Bun!” bellowed Holster, indicating the bun.

“You do not run over Señor Bun,” followed Ransom. “You do not spray mud on Señor Bun. You so much as look at Señor Bun in the wrong way and you are -”

“DISQUALIFIED!”

“By the time the bun has hit the ground so should your foot on the gas - even a second earlier and you are -”

“DISQUALIFIIIIEEEED!”

“You do anything to intentionally harm another driver and -”

“DIS! QUALI! FIIIIIIIIEEEEED!”

They both crossed their arms and looked at Bitty, who gave Señor Bun a tiny kiss on the top of his bun head and tossed him high in the air.

The moment his furry ass touched the ground both drivers slammed on the gas, gears grinding as they shifted from first to second to third in a jolting matter of seconds.

Poindexter got ahead first, Nursey swerving to avoid an ill-placed porta potty. Teal lights flashed from underneath the rims of the wheels as he released the clutch and then braked - too soon for this race - allowing Nursey to get ahead. Nursey squinted as he looked back; an amateur mistake, was he trying to psych Nursey out?

Right now, he couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate on the other driver’s maybe’s and might’ve’s. It hadn’t done him any good in the past and he knew he had to be zen, find the peace and rhythm in his driving. He breathed in hard through his nose to steady his pounding heart. His mouth tasted like nothing and iron. His sinuses felt too clear. Adrenaline had blood rushing through his ears; he fucking loved this feeling.

Jack zigzagged in front of them, or as close to next of them as he could on this small, residential neighborhood road. It wasn’t a race for speed but obstacles, Holster and Ransom spilling water from huge, galvanized metal buckets onto the top of their cars.

Poindexter swerved and Nursey barrelled through, nearly smashing the front of Holsters ride on Jack’s bumper, and last minute nicking the side mirror. He saw Holster’s mouth move in the shape of a protest but didn’t want to risk rolling down his windows to hear.

Chowder’s car left tire tracks in the road as he rolled onto a driveway and this time Nursey noticed his competition wasn’t avoiding obstacles so much as trying to see past the half-built houses. Too late, Nursey realized he was planning on leaving the perimeter to get ahead.

Smart driving.

Holster and Ransom whooped as Poindexter tore through the construction site. Without the other car to block his way, Nursey ripped ahead of Jack’s truck, which followed as close as it could for as long, until Nursey’s foot hurt pressing against the gas pedal. He let off just long enough to glance at his right, where he saw Poindexter between houses, three car lengths ahead.

Too far ahead.

Time to get crafty.

Nursey pulled out his phone. It rang for three beats and then went to voicemail. Nursey dialed again.

“Hi, baby, it’s me,” said Nursey.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” Poindexter, per usual, sounded furious.

“You left your gas cap open.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t,” agreed Nursey.

“We’re in the middle of a race!”

“I just wanted to say-” but Poindexter had already hung up.

Nursey called him again and the phone barely had time to ring.

“Nurse, _what_?”

“Told you, call me Nursey.”

The finish line was only a mile away, and it was on the residential road - Chowder’s white jag swung around a corner and took out a mailbox as he joined Nursey on the road, only a car length ahead now. - Poindexter wasn’t winning any races if he stayed in the boonies and Jack’s truck was far behind them, and without it, Nursey’d gained precious miles.

“I was wondering why you have plaid curtains? When that room’s mine, I’m gonna burn them.”

“Shut up and concentrate on the race.”

“Maybe I’ll keep them up, for prosperity.”

“You’re losing, Nursey, fucking weirdo. And if you like them that much, maybe I’ll let you keep them and you can hang them up when you’re living in the basement.”

“The basement?”

“It’s the only available room in the Haus. Enjoy the concrete floor.”

“You’re the one that’s gonna have to rough it.”

They rounded another corner, this time Nursey veering off track. He only had a few seconds to see a plan come together.

The weighted water tanks.

The loose plywood planks.

Nursey felt the rumble of the engine under his seat and knew like he knew the shape of Poindexter’s ears that he could switch gears now and get ahead or he could use the extra horsepower to push something with the nose of his car and risk falling behind.

“Hold on,” said Nursey, “I need both hands.”

He dropped the phone on the passenger seat without bothering to hang up, Poindexter’s tinny voice swearing at him.

He drove the Corolla into the water tanks, and they exploded into action, smashing into the side of Chowder’s Jag. The Jaguar balked, veering left, because Nursey was pressing in on the right, and then braked because directly in front of them both were loose plywood planks haphazardly splayed across the road. The time it took Poindexter to avoid them were the precious seconds Nursey needed to get ahead.

Nursey shouted and whooped before plucking the phone off the seat.

“Fuck you,” snarled Poindexter.

“Too far for that - what are you wearing?”

“Fuck - stop laughing Chowder - _fuck off._ ”

Poindexter was right next to him now, both cars barrelling out of control, zig-zagging around maintenance equipment, workbenches and titanium poles.

Out of nowhere, Jack’s truck came barrelling in front of them, police sirens wailing on the roof of the driver’s side.

If either Nursey or Poindexter panicked, it was hard to tell - there were enough stray equipment up here that neither car was steady, but both headed towards the bright orange cone the beacon of winners; finish line so close Nursey could smell the plastic.

In the end, they were nose to nose. In the end, they had to check the cameras set up in front of the cone to see which car had passed, millimeters ahead of the other.

 

* * *

 

“You can’t refuse to move out,” said Nursey, scowling.

“Well, I am!” came from Poindexter, who was using a nail gun to attach his sheets to his mattress.

“You know I’m going to take your stuff out of the room while you’re in class, right?”

“Yeah, good luck; this is a three-inch nail, it’s never coming out and I’m never getting my security deposit back, but worth it - Hey!”

“Scissors, Dexy.”

“C’mon man, I don’t have anywhere else to live!”

“Neither do I!”

Bitty leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Behind him stood a girl with a blunt, dark bob.

“Who is that?”

“Nursey.”

“Why are they arguing?”

“Nursey’s bumper was technically ahead of Dex’s but Chowder’s shark hood ornament gave Dex an extra inch so they were technically even! How crazy is that! It’s like they were fated to be drivers together!”

The girl glanced at the two drivers, arguing. They were tugging a plaid curtain back and forth.

“Well,” said Lardo, “They could share the room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for tagging along for the ride   
> Ha  
> lil driving humor for you
> 
> also if you have any high adrenaline driving songs please leave a comment!!

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @exyfexyfoxes !!


End file.
